Silent volutes of ghostly smoke rose before the unhealthy cave. Even the twins' banter had ceased, killed by the creepiness of the place. Now the whole group of rangers stood in front of what seemed the mountain's mouth. The hole was dark enough to be a bottomless well, or a burial pit; would it swallow them entirely, never to see the light again ?

Not to say that the light was very attractive either. From the moment the day rose the whole valley had been bathed in a blank filtered light. It was exactly the kind of weather that made Frances feel claustrophobic, like a blanket that prevented her from breathing. The mere thought of getting inside this cave was, however, much worse, and even the horses were tense. They had dismounted to approach the entrance further, the rangers keeping a tight hand on the reins.

Aragorn, in all his chieftain's glory, refused to be intimidated, and he turned to his companions with a resolved expression.

"My blood runs chills," muttered Gimli.

"This is an evil door," said Halbarad, his face set in a displeased frown. "My death lies beyond it."

Frances rolled her eyes at the sudden theatrics. Still, she had to admit that the ranger had a point. Her knees trembled, and it wasn't from the pain. Riding behind Elladan had, so far, quite protected her thigh from the strain.

"No horse will enter," came Halbarad's conclusion.

To this, Aragorn glanced at the loyal steeds that had borne them until there. The beasts were terrified, their eyes darting in all directions, tail restlessly chasing at imaginary moths. Yet, they could not afford to leave them.

"The horses must go too, for if ever we come through this darkness, many leagues lie beyond. Follow me."

Then, he strode into the darkness, his hand holding firm at the leash of his steed. And surprisingly, the horse followed. Stunned, the young woman watched as one by one, the rangers disappeared under the arch of this accursed mountain. Such was the strength of Aragorn's will! Very soon, she was left with the twins, Legolas and Gimli. Their Rohirrim steed, Arod, was trembling in fear and refused to move. Frances' heart went to the beast. She was, herself, quite ready to faint such was the evil vibe of the passage. Then, Legolas laid a hand on the horse's eyes, and started singing softly in elvish. The beauty of his lullaby eventually soothed the animal, so much that he allowed the elf to lead him into the cave. Frances watched him as his light disappeared into the nothingness under the mountain. Somehow, his soft words had settled her heart as well. Elven magic, surely.

"Let us follow," said Elrohir, gesturing for her to lead on.

Behind her, Elladan was lighting up a torch. And further away was Gimli's stricken face. Frances straightened, and took a few steps forward. Her heart raced, but she refused to back down. Now was not the time to give Halbarad reasons to believe her weak. Right in front of her, the faint light of Legolas was already starting to disappear. Stumbling in the pitch dark hole, Frances shuddered. She never wanted that light to fade. Nor physically, nor literally.

It was the first time since they departed that she had laid eyes upon the elf again. Legolas had kept his distances from her ever since the argument with Halbarad. The prince had made no secret that he reproved her behaviour, even if he had not voiced any reproaches. She was grateful for this; Frances did not know how she might have handled his disappointment. Sometimes, Legolas's old age showed through a wisdom that could be quite overwhelming. Still, the young lady felt his absence by her side. Maybe it was for the best. Frances' close bond with the twins had kept her mind occupied. Mostly. But it was a tremendous effort to manage to keep her mind of him for more than mere seconds in a row.

The low ceiling was quickly getting on her nerves. There was barely enough light to make out the ground, even with Elladan's torch. Still, the company progressed swiftly. Terror was quickly getting a hold on Frances. She refused to let panic take control of her body, but her laboured breathing had all three elven companions worried. After the encounters with the Nazgul, it was not the incredible feeling of dread and impending doom that affected her the most. Forces of darkness were using that trick too much for their own sake, and even her weak human's soul could resist this after the hardships of her past.

But she was claustrophobic. If no elf was truly happy about digging themselves underground, none of them could realise what Frances was going through.

Moria mines had for sure been an ordeal, but their grandeur had nothing to do with the small tunnel they were now following, their sides sometimes touching with the rocky walls as the path narrowed. At this stage of closeness the young lady was far beyond panic, reaching the point of no return when her mind would shut down and her body surrender. A merciless war was now raging to repel the phobia further away, each step taking her an amount of energy quickly draining. Soon enough though, she knew that she would lose. The only question was when. When would they have to abandon her?

"Is your leg holding up?" whispered Elrohir, a few paces behind her.

Frances swallowed hard. She needed to answer this without trembling in fear.

"Yes. Thank you for that"

Elrohir fell silent. Behind them, voices could be heard. Voices that talked in a long forgotten language. The elf exchanged a worried look with his twin before heading forward again.

Frances' hands trembled around her walking stick. The characteristic scent of a horse in front of her kept her focused, her mind concentrating on its presence and the quiet noise of the hooves on the rocks. As long as Arod could go, so could she? Repeating every rational reason she had not to panic, Frances realised how tight the tunnels seemed to become, and without thinking she accelerated and reached for the horse's back for reassurance. The thick layer of hairs slid under her fingers, and she started to gently stoke the stallion. A glowing figure was leading the mount upfront, marching tall and proud in the depth of the earth, but the light the elf emitted was weaker than usual. Legolas also hated being underground, and she remembered how his glow had become unnoticeable after five days in Moria.

Feeling her presence closer to his, Legolas fell a bit backwards to match her position, letting his hand slide gently along the horse's head to keep him moving. His resolution held still; he was not closing the distance between them, merely making sure that she would be well. Behind her, the twins were whispering in elvish, too enthralled by the presence of the dead to take care of the young lady.

Her growing panic worried him; he heard her shuddering heart in the silence. The elf himself did not feel at ease underground, and the deathly atmosphere in which they evolved did not really help either. Still he was surprised at the strength of her reaction; Frances was no mere maiden. The mines had been carrying an equally distressing spirit with dwarven cadavres and silent halls, yet the young woman's courage had never faltered. When his hand came in contact with cold skin, the elf refrained from pulling away. Probably that she had placed her hand thus in order to help her footing in this treacherous march.

Turning to his left, he saw the young lady's eyes widen in surprise. His enhanced sight allowed him to detail her stunned expression at the unexpected contact, even in the gloom of the tunnel. She obviously did not know how to react, her hesitation speaking of the many worries that plagued her. Some time ago she would have shied away from his hand, especially now that he had made his need for distance clear – she'd left him alone, catching his hints.

But the look of terror on her face said otherwise and the expression in her eyes was so frightened that he felt like reaching further. Then something unexpected happened. Her breathing seemed to slow down, and her features relaxed just a bit. His presence soothed her.

As Frances's hand brushed Legolas's warm skin, she could not find the courage to remove it from its spot. The contact eased her mind nearly as much as the worried frown he was giving her. Still, it was awkward to take advantage of him this way. A resolved look passed on her face as she decided to retreat. Without averting his eyes from her face, Legolas' warm hand caught her fingers in a swift but extremely gentle move, and he cautiously placed them on the stallion.

Then he smiled to her, and Frances' felt her knees buckle. His smile was so genuine that it nearly hurt not to be able to do the same, and his deep blue orbs were sending her into an ocean of reassurance. Panic slowly receded from her constricted chest. The elf's presence and gentle touch were now enough to keep her walking in the gloom, and she would have followed his glowing form to the end of the world if need it be.

The twins exchanged a side glance as Frances and Legolas' hands locked together; their sister's gift of foresight proved true. For the second time in the third age, love had blossomed between Edain and Eldar. What they might make of it was their decision alone; bittersweet either way. As brothers of a sibling who had forsaken immortality, they knew the burden of such relationships. They were paying for it already. And from the looks of the exchange between Frances and Legolas, the pair was not ready to act upon it either.

Soon enough the little group came across a larger tunnel, and as they progressed alongside the uneven ground the noise of hooves turned into sharp crunches. The elf's keen sight caught a glimpse at the bones covering the floor.

"Frances. Do not look at your feet," whispered Legolas.

Of course, she had to do the exact contrary, and a surprised gasp escaped her lips as she slid her hand off the horse.

"Oh!" she said, her face expressionless. "How peculiar, that's an insane amount of people."

Puzzled, the elf frowned; mere moments ago the young lady was ready to collapse in fear. Yet, the wave of relief flooding her was definitely inconsistent with the new skull carpet they were treading upon. How could he know that the claustrophobia was lifted now that the walls of the tunnel were farther away, and that the bones were just making her curious?

As the company eventually reached a vault, most of them instinctively gathered on the now clear ground to observe the place. A heavy sensation lurked inside the endless cave. No ceiling could be seen, and while hard rock closed the left hand, an unclear area of darkness seemed to terminate the other side of the vault. Aragorn was watching a lone figure, slumped against a stone door on the far end.

Behind them, Frances felt the weight of the dead. It filled her with dread, but she could live with it. Even if goosebumps marred her flesh, and her body shuddered here and there from their disturbing presence, she'd rather fight them than go back into the narrow passageways. Granting a quick look at Legolas, she found him stone-faced. He was unafraid, contrary to Gimli that seemed ready to wet his breeches. His features betrayed no emotion. Cold and aloof. The prince of Greenwood was back to his old self, the elf she had known on the road before he started opening up to the fellowship, … opening to her.

Aragorn's deep voice resonated in the cavern, calling her attention away from her companions.

"Keep your hoards and your secrets hidden in the Accursed Years! Speed only we ask. Let us pass, and then come! I summon you to the stone of Erech!"

His proposal was met with silence. Then a great gust of wind came, and blew the torches.

"Merde !"ushered Frances' voice. "Now we're really in deep shit."

"Come," answered Aragorn. Let us be out"

"Tu l'as dis bouffi" snickered the young lady.

Another stupid expression from her elder brother, but at the moment, she badly needed the joke to keep from panicking. A hand took hold of her elbow and lead her away. The man was tall, and moved flawlessly. With the faint glow and long hair, she recognised one of the twins. For hours, they went on, progressing in the darkness until Frances felt like curling on the ground and screaming to the heavens. Her leg ached, throbbing painfully from the bad treatment. Very soon, her limp had become much more pronounced. The hand on her elbow came to support her arm instead.

"I'm sorry sweet lady, the walls are not wide enough so that I can carry you."

Elrohir then, he was the only one calling her thus. They kept going, the pace killing her, until the cavern stretched again. She didn't know how she could detect it given the absence of light, but the walls felt less tight. Eventually, the elf scooped her into his arms. A familiar scent graced her nose, and Frances sighed in relief.

"There, I have you. You can rest now."

Frances rested her head on the elf's chest. A very hard chest. So much that her skull was sometimes bouncing off his muscles. With the life they led, no wonder the twins had no fat layering their frame.

"Thank you, Elrohir. But as soon as the light come back, you set me on the ground. I don't want Halbarad to go all 'damsel in distress' on me, right?"

The elf didn't even blink at her strange expression.

"I understand."

"Hey. You are a great friend," came the young lady's muffled voice.

Elrohir's lips quirked upright in the dark.

"I know."

A few steps behind them, a lone elf smiled at Elrohir's deadpan reply. Now that the twins had joined them, they would look after Frances. She didn't need him anymore to watch her back. A curious pang of sadness hit him, but Legolas pushed it away. It was all for the best… then why did he feel like he should be the one holding her ?

Eventually, the gloom left way to a little light. Frances nearly wept. For sure, if she'd been touching the ground, she would have sunk to her knees in silent prayer.

Light !

Elrohir settled the young woman on her feet with a worried look, and awaited for her nod to push forward. Then, they were out in the open. The company lost no time, jumping atop their horses and hurtling down the dull valley. Now, Frances held onto Elrohir like her life depended on it. Legolas could feel Gimli's dread as well. He, similarly to the twins, did not fear the dead. But the second born were terrified of them. Legolas turned slightly, sending Gimli a reassuring smile before staring uphill.

"The Dead are following," he said. "I see shapes of Men and of horses, and pale banners like shreds of cloud, and spears. The Dead are following."

"Yes. The Dead ride behind. They have been summoned," answered Elladan.

And his voice was nearly cheerful. It was good news indeed. Aragorn had managed to muster the great force than only the heir of Isildur could summon. With this army, they might very well turn the tide of the war.

Gimli snorted behind him, irony laced in his voice.

"How very thoughtful of them."

Frances turned around, sending him a quizzical look. The dread that she felt, having the dead following them, was definitely uncomfortable. She hated having a threat on her back; better to face it head on. She blessed the proximity of Elrohir who gave her a measure of serenity. But it was the light of Legolas upon which her attention was fixed. And if he saw it, the elf didn't comment, for he passed her horse with only a nod, leaving them with Elladan. Still, Frances focused on his brightness; it kept the fear at bay.

For a long time they rode, and bells were ringing in their wake, people fleeing before them in the valley. The great host of ghosts followed, awaiting for the king to acknowledge them. Dusk came and went, and still they rode on. Frances was exhausted, leaning against Elrohir and catching a few instants of sleep here and there. At last, she was awakened by a great horn blowing from Aragorn's lips. They had stopped! A curious echo answered while she tried to make sense of what was happening. The company had not dismounted, save their leader who stood at the feet of a huge rounded stone buried at the top of a hill. The hill of Erech, where Aragorn had summoned the dead.

"Oathbreakers, why have ye come?" he cried.

His voice held such authority that the land itself seemed to be bowing. But then, a gust of icy wind blew over the company, and a cavernous sound answered from afar.

"To fulfil our oath, and have peace."

Cold sweat ran between Frances's shoulder blades, and her hold tightened of the elf beside her. How lucky she was to be in such company on an hour so dark! Bless his protectiveness! On the ground, Aragorn laid out terms for an agreement, speaking to the emptiness as if a king of old faced him until he bade Halbarad to unfurl the banner that Arwen had woven. As the cloth sailed in the wind, Aragorn's strong voice covered the grassy hills.

"I am Elessar. Isildur's heir of Gondor."

Frances' chest swelled with pride. To see him proclaim his heirloom so grandly was a surprise, and it brought her great joy. A stony silence greeted his words, and of the dead they heard no more.

"Come my friends," said Aragorn. "Let us rest while we can. We have many leagues to cover until Pelargir."

The grey company dismounted, all of them weary of the dead now surrounding them. There was little talk among the Dunedain; they were far too used to each other and made a camp without a word exchanged. Frances' bedroll was laid down between the twins and Aragorn's. They were so exhausted than no fire was made, no roast nor any repast of any kind stewed on the ambers. Some nibbled on dried fruit and meat. But Frances, for her part, was ready to pass out. So she used her last moments of consciousness to lay a hand on Aragorn's shoulder. In the dark, she could hardly make out his grey eyes. Still, she smiled and sat beside him.

"You have made it Aragorn, and no other than you could have done it. I am proud to be by your side, heir of Gondor."

The ranger passed one arm around her shoulders and tilted her close to him. For a short while, both relished in the warmth of the other, exhaling slowly as tension left their bodies.

"And I, by yours. Thank you for believing in me. Now get some sleep if you can."

"I will snuggle close to Elladan. He doesn't snore and will keep me warm."

'And safe', though Aragorn, but he refrained from saying so. Despite the oath the Dead had sworn to him, their presence was, at the very least, unsettling.

What if they decided to fall under the rule of Sauron once more? In that case, not one of this company would survive their betrayal. And his friend, Legolas, would die before knowing the blessings of love. For he had seen, despite the weight of his worries and the toll of leading the grey company, that the elf had withdrawn from Frances. And he understood. Still, he felt the young lady's pain. And much more so, Legolas' solitude.